Every day

Every day has it's own unique and butter challenges. 

Yesterday I was looking for a missing file on our desktop computer. I found a note Katie had typed for Joe to send with some pictures she had chosen from when they were little. "I miss you and I know you miss me."

All these exquisite sharp silvery bits. It's  like being sliced by beautiful ice slivers. 

Today issues with Libby because she's so furiously sad here. I'm furiously sad here, too. I fell asleep last night thinking of how we could move. But I know that I'll be furiously sad anywhere. And the memories hurt here, but they're some of the best memories I have. How could I leave?  How can I not?

I put Compassionate Friends meetings on my calendar. Crying as I look at September and October. 

I am grieving all over again. 

I don't think I will ever blog without crying. 

I fucking hate my life.

That is all. 

Mother's Day, Shabbat, and going Home.

I survived. 

Libby did an amazing job of making me feel special. Gifts. Flowers. At her idea we went to Holy Hill and walked the Stations of the Cross. But for missing half of my heart, it was a good day. 

Talk about a severe reset of the "okay" calibration. 

I had Shabbat with my rabbi friend and his family. We talked about my anger with God some. One of the things that he said is that every person born has a purpose. Some fulfill their purposes sooner than others, so they get to go "home" earlier. 

And I still cry. 

And the law marches on

I talked to the attorney yesterday. The manufacturing company hasn't been forthcoming with requested information.  The last option is filing a lawsuit. Which means that we need personal representatives must be ordered by a court. Which means filing a probate for Katie. 

They had to ask me if Katie had a will. 

If I agree to be a corepresentative with Joe. 

It has to be done. It hurt, but I need closure. 

God is not "good."

I see this on Facebook a lot lately. "God is good all the time."  

It's especially hurtful when it is accompanied by a photo of their adorable child(ren).

It makes me want to scream. 

I want to comment on every post "Bullshit. Bull. Shit."

Because I am a walking, talking, example to the contrary. 

If God was so all-fired, fucking good, I would not be living this nightmare.